to flee to the tap o’ them. And in this country, and in the isles, whilk are little better, or, to speak the truth, rather waur than the mainland, there are about twa hunder and thirty parochines, including the Orkneys, where, whether they speak Gaelic or no, I wotna, but they are an uncivilised people.—Now, sirs, I sall haud ilk parochine at the moderate estimate of eight hunder examinable persons, deducting children under nine years of age, and then adding one-fifth to stand for bairns of nine years auld, and under, the whole population will reach to the sum of—let us add one-fifth to 800 to be the multiplier, and 230 being the multiplicand—”

“The product,” said Mr. Owen, who entered delightedly into these statistics of Mr. Jarvie, “will be 230,000.”

“Right, sir—perfectly right; and the military array of this Hieland country, were a’ the men-folk between aughteen and fifty-six brought out that could bear arms, couldna come weel short of fifty-seven thousand five hundred men. Now, sir, it’s a sad and awfu’ truth, that there is neither wark, nor the very fashion nor appearance of wark, for the tae half of thae puir creatures; that is to say, that the agriculture, the pasturage, the fisheries, and every species of honest industry about the country, cannot employ the one moiety of the population, let them work as lazily as they like, and they do work as if a pleugh or a spade burnt their fingers. Aweel, sir, this moiety of unemployed bodies, amounting to—”

“To one hundred and fifteen thousand souls,” said Owen, “being the half of the above product.”

“Ye hae’t, Maister Owen—ye hae’t—whereof there may be twenty-eight thousand seven hundred able- bodied gillies fit to bear arms, and that do bear arms, and will touch or look at nae honest means of livelihood even if they could get it—which, lack-a-day, they cannot.”

“But is it possible,” said I, “Mr. Jarvie, that this can be a just picture of so large a portion of the island of Britain?”

“Sir, I’ll make it as plain as Peter Pasley’s pikestaff—I will allow that ilk parochine, on an average, employs fifty pleughs, whilk is a great proportion in sic miserable soil as thae creatures hae to labour, and that there may be pasture eneugh for pleugh-horses, and owsen, and forty or fifty cows; now, to take care o’ the pleughs and cattle, we’se allow seventy-five families of six lives in ilk family, and we’se add fifty mair to make even numbers, and ye hae five hundred souls, the tae half o’ the population, employed and maintained in a sort o’ fashion, wi’ some chance of sour-milk and crowdie; but I wad be glad to ken what the other five hunder are to do?”

“In the name of God!” said I, “what do they do, Mr. Jarvie? It makes me shudder to think of their situation.”

“Sir,” replied the Bailie, “ye wad maybe shudder mair if ye were living near-hand them. For, admitting that the tae half of them may make some little thing for themsells honestly in the Lowlands by shearing in harst, droving, hay-making, and the like; ye hae still mony hundreds and thousands o’ lang-legged Hieland gillies that will neither work nor want, and maun gang thigging and sorning² about on their acquaintance, or live by doing the laird’s bidding, be’t right or be’t wrang. And mair especially, mony hundreds o’ them come down to the borders of the low country, where there’s gear to grip, and live by stealing, reiving, lifting cows, and the like depredations! A thing deplorable in ony Christian country—the mair especially, that they take pride in it, and reckon driving a spreagh (whilk is, in plain Scotch, stealing a herd of nowte) a gallant, manly action, and mair befitting of pretty³ men (as sic reivers will ca’ themsells) than to win a day’s wage by ony honest thrift. And the lairds are as bad as the loons; for if they dinna bid them gae reive and harry, the deil a bit they forbid them; and they shelter them, or let them shelter themsells, in their woods, and mountains, and strongholds, whenever the thing’s dune. And every ane o’ them will maintain as mony o’ his ane name, or his clan, as we say, as he can rap and rend means for; or, whilk’s the same thing, as mony as can in ony fashion, fair or foul, mainteen themsells—and there they are wi’ gun and pistol, dirk and dourlack, ready to disturb the peace o’ the country whenever the laird likes; and that’s the grievance of the Hielands, whilk are, and hae been for this thousand years by-past, a bike o’ the maist lawless unchristian limmers that ever disturbed a douce, quiet, God-fearing neighbourhood, like this o’ ours in the west here.”